Toe Shoes and Shuriken
by Tierra The Awesome
Summary: Kushina's been living in AMerica for years, desperately trying to avoid utter heaartbreak. but when Minato is in a fatal accident, will she come back or stay to dance in her lead role in the world-famous Ballet? rated T for language & some sexual content
1. First Position

**SS AND HER FRIEND- IF THIS SUCKS DO NOT JUDGE ME! I never read KushinaMinato fics, so I don't know if this is good or not…**

I limped offstage, collapsing in a folding chair just behind the curtain. I slipped my black dancing shoes off of my swollen feet, grimacing as the worn-out wooden bases chafed my scraped skin.

I stared at my feet, shocked by their appearance. They were swollen, red, bloody, scraped, and they hurt like hell. I tried to flex my feet, and had to choke back a gasp of pain, as it shot from my over-worked ankles up my aching legs.

"What the hell have you done to your feet, Shina? They're a mess!"

"Thanks Chess, for making me feel so much better."

"Teehee….you have an accent."

"I am aware that I have an accent. You don't have to comment on it every time I say something, Francesca."

"Sorry, sorry. But your feet are a total mess. You're going to have to ask for a break off from work."

"Chess, you know I can't do that."

"Yes you can," She reprimanded me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding bandages, pain medicine, and a water bottle, giving me the medicine and water before she began wrapping the snowy white bandages around my feet, quickly turning the cotton pink.

"You are the lead role in a huge ballet that cannot be postponed because the show is already sold-out. You may think that you can't take off because opening night is in a week or so, but that's why you _can._ The director can't afford to fire you and recast your role this late in rehearsal. He'll have to let you go for a day or two, seeing as you're the lead. Like I said, he can't afford to lose you this close to opening night."

"But, Chess-"

"No. I am going to go tell Director Tapp that you're going home and won't be in for a couple of days. "

"You can't do that-"

"I can and I will. Now shut up. I'll be back in a few minutes with your bag."

"Chess, don't-"

"Shut up."

"You Americans…."

"Well, you're Asian. Shut up and take of the wig, Shina."

She stamped off in the director's office, and I glared at her back. I yanked at the glistening blonde bun, the platinum-blonde ringlets bouncing as they fell down my back. I pulled at the ends gently, and the wig slipped off, catching at my hair with bobby pins. As the white-blonde cover fell on my lap, I shook out my real locks. They fell in a cascade of fiery red hair, straight as bone. I shook it, pulling my sweat-drenched hair away from my forehead and neck, and tying it up as best I could with ribbon and wire, half of it off my neck, the other half falling on my back.

"Here."

Chess dropped my duffel bag beside my chair, then dragged me back to the dressing rooms, along with my duffel.

"Chess, what are you doing- HEY!"

She began to yank of the black tutu, leotard, and tights, and redressing me in my own long, high-collared, dark blue dress. She didn't even bother with putting my shoes on, opting instead to carry me out. I was so exhausted I didn't even pretest. Training had never been this hard, and it's one of the most grueling processes a person can be subjected to.

Chess accompanied me home, not leaving until she had made absolutely sure that I had taken medicine for pain, and was asleep in my bed. I was unconscious in minutes, having been at rehearsal 12 hours every day for the past two weeks.

I woke up at 2 p.m. the next day, having slept for over 15 hours.

I stood, wincing at the dull ache in the balls and heels of my feet. I swallowed some Tylenol, and washed it down with water, moving to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat.

Not feeling like actually making anything, I stuck a pot of water on the stove and set it to boil, before taking a package of instant ramen out of one of the cupboards. I looked at it for a moment, remembering when I could get a fresh bowl of this stuff, steaming hot, not from a plastic-wrapped block of noodles and a packet of seasonings.

I sighed, and said to myself, "Stupid ramen…." Before breaking the noodles and dropping them in the boiling water.

I wandered into my small dining-room adjoined with the kitchen AND the living room, and sat on the couch, blowing on the steam from my instant ramen. I used mmy chopsticks to put the noodles in my mouth, and sighed in content.

"Thank Kami for Maruchan Ramen….. The most delicious instant ramen ever made."

I flipped through the channels, still eating my ramen, letting the noodles slide down my throat. I stopped on a show I had never seen before, something about deadly warriors. Aha. Deadliest Warrior. Figures.

As I watched, I realized they were comparing ninjas and Spartans.

Ha, ninjas win, hands down.

-20 minutes later-

Spartans.

Beat.

Ninjas.

No they wouldn't. Not where I'm from they wouldn't- Stop. Shina, stop.

I will not let myself think about that, about my home, my parents, or Flash…

STOP KUSHINA STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT.

I left my empty bowl on the table, and limped back to my room, collapsing on the bed just as the tears came, pouring down my face like a waterfall.

_I'm sorry Kushina. _

_I just don't love you anymore. Mayb_e _i will again, someday. But right now, I just need some space. You understand, right? Now you can have fun with your friends, you don't have to go everywhere with me anymore._

_I'm sorry….._

I yelled, and threw a picture frame with my mother's picture in it at the wall, the glass shattering into a million shards. I watched as the pieces clattered on the top of my dresser, and noticed the blinking message light on my phone. Picking up the phone, I pressed the voicemail button and played with the cord absentmindedly.

A businesslike woman's voice came on the line, "Collect Call from Japan, made from the individual named Furawā Yamanaka."

Furawā? I hadn't talked to her since I left Kon-Stop Kushina.

Furawā's girly voice came on the line, frenzied and excited.

"KUSHINA! Oh my goodness, it took me forever to find you, and when I do find you, you're in America? New York, no less. But back to the point, Minato has been in a really bad accident."

Oh god….Minato.

"He's been slipping in and out of a coma for the past three days, and he's been saying your name in his sleep. I thought it was urgent for me to call you, and I hate to be so brash about this, BUT YOU NEED TO GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE AND SEE HIM, KUSHINA! I don't care what happened between you two that made you leave the fucking country, but you need to get your ass back to Konoha.

Oh, and by the way, I'm pregnant. Call me back the minute you get this."

I didn't know what I was more shocked about, that Furawā had finally gotten knocked up by Inoichi, or that Minato had gotten in an accident. He never gets hurt. Ever. Its like a rule that he's a great ninja.

Crap. The performance.

Minato.

The ballet performance.

Minato.

The ballet.

Minato.

Those were the only two things that ran through my head for a few minutes, clawing around my mind, shredding any sense I had, since I decided to go to Minato.

But the damn performance is in just over a week, I cant just up and leave and go to japan.

Yes I can.

Right?

I picked up the phone, dialing collect, and calling Furawā.

"Furawā! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MINATO?"


	2. Pirouette

"He fell off a building."

…..

"How do you fall off a building?"

"Apparently you run behind Jiraiya at a breakneck speed like a dumbass then trip over a kid's toy and fall 4 stories on your head."

"…Of course. I don't know why I didn't realize that before."

"It's just so blindingly obvious. That's why."

"Furawā? Why do you sound so weird?"

"Its nothing. Just get here as fast as you can."

"Fine. Ill be there faster than you think."

_Click._

Did she really just hang up on me?

I shook my head, and dialed another number, this time answering the automated voice by pressing the "designated" buttons. 3…5….7….2…4….2…2…..3

"Thank you. Please wait for us to connect you."

Gah….stupid airline automated voice.

"Yes, Hello. How may I help you today?"

"I need a plane ticket to Japan, first thing in the morning."

"But miss, all the seats are taken except for one in first class!"

"My name is Kushina Shitsuren, and I WILL be getting on that plane tomorrow!" I pumped one of my fists into the air with a triumphant slash defiant slash desperate gesture.

"…."

Damn it I've really got to start remembering that people can't see me through the phone, and even if he could this would just be ridiculous….

Stupid gesture's just a shinobi thing isn't it….

"May I just book you a first class ticket for the first available flight to Japan?"

"Yes please." I said dejectedly, my head hanging.

I listened to the "complimentary mood music" and slowly got irritated, tapping on the side table irraitatedly.

"400 HUNDERED DAMN DOLLARS? FOR A ONE WAY TICKET? ARE YOU PEOPLE INSANE?"

"Well, Miss Shitsuren, there aren't any other seats…"

"Fine…fine…Just let me book the damn ticket."

"Thank you, now if I could just have your credit card number or bank number…"

-30 minutes later-

I hung up the phone….very depressedly.

400 dollars. Plus food expenses. And the hotel they would "complementarily" book for me. And the taxi they would arrange for me.

Twelve…hundred…dollars….

I shuddered, and used the 4 year-old laptop I had bought used to check my bank account.

Oh lord once I pay this bill I'm going to be broke. And that's if I can even afford to come back to America to PAY the bill.

Oh Kami I'm fucked.

"GAH I HATE MONEY! THINGS WERE SO MUCH MORE SIMPLE WHEN ALL I HAD TO PAY FOR WAS HALF A RAMEN BILL AND HALF THE RENT CHECK! AAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGHHHHH!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, slamming my fist into the wall.

_Crack…_

_Crack…._

_CRACK_

Oh.

Shit.

Fire.

Oh.

Shitfire.

Ohshitfire.

I yanked my fist out of the plaster and drywall, and stooped over a bit to look through. I had completely broken a hole, through which I could see my bathroom.

Dammit.

I groaned, and opened a drawer, taping sheets of construction paper over both sides of the wall to cover the stupid hole, like I had done in several other spots scattered over my apartment.

And at some point I would have to pay to repair these holes….

Stupid effing anger issues.

I angrily started to pack my bag, throwing in a few skirts, tights, kimono tops, and just for fun (or because I wasn't paying attention) my costume for the ballet next Friday.

I had so much crap in there after I was done, I couldn't even get it shut. I shoved down on it, and still couldn't close it.

"Okay, you stupid bag, if you want to be difficult, I will be difficult right back."

I literally jumped on top of it until everything finally got squeezed inside of the zipper, and zipped it closed.

"Imaimashii fukuro wa tojinai." I muttered at the suitcase. Damn bag never closes.

I dropped the suitcase on the floor, and set some stuff on top of it so it couldn't open without warning, and prepared to leave the apartment to go to the community center. Ah….community centers. They have a pool, karate classes, and a ballet studio. Fully equipped too. Mirrors, 5 or 6 barres, and even a part-time voluntary instructor. Not that I need that though.

I slipped my pointe shoes into my overlarge purse, along with my black leotard and skirt, and black tights.

Then I grabbed my keys and the metro card and was out the door.

Five minutes later I remembered I was barefoot.

Stuck in a New York subway, halfway across town, barefoot.

I'm going to contract malaria, I can just tell. Eww….

Finally out of the train stations, I ran into the community center's bathroom, quickly changing into my leotard, skirt, tights, and shoes before going back out into the public eye. Then I made my way into the ballet studio, leaving my purse and water bottle at the side of the room. I was the only one there today, as the actual ballet class had ended about 15 minutes ago.

I pulled one of the heavier, longer barres out into the middle of the room to begin stretching.

Setting the back of my ankle on the wooden pole, I leaned forward to touch my forehead to my knee, then all the way back to completely make my foot to head space horizontal. I could feel my braid brushing the floor as I arched my back so I could touch the back of my foot on the ground. I stood back up, and repeated the exercise with my other leg, stretching out my legs and arms in one movement, essentially.

Next I sat on the floor, keeping one leg on the floor pointed, and pulling the other as far back as I could, all the way to my shoulder.

There aren't any other people around, and I have pent up aggression right now. Screw the damn ballet stretches.

I stood up straight, and put my arms in front of me like first position, then flung my arms in front of me and fell to the floor in push-up position. I put one of my arms on my back, and began to do one armed push-ups in sets of 30 for each arm. I had ditched my pointe shoes earlier, and my tights ripped on the floor, so my toes could get better traction on the wooden baseboards.

After I was done, I tried chakra focusing walking up the walls, but repeatedly having to push off the mirrors and flip backwards in the air to avoid crashing down on my back. When I was finally able to walk all the way up the mirrored wall, I stood on the ceiling, feeling weird doing so.

I hadn't done anything like this for years. I had tried to abandon everything about being a shinobi so I would never have to think about Minato or the village again. I had moved to _America,_ no less. Sighing, I spun in a pirouette, almost falling to my death in a moment of extreme stupidity. How the hell had I forgotten that I was standing on the CEILING?

Ugh. This is why I hate thinking about Minato. I always get all sigh-y and its horrible. Stupid blonde, asshole, jerk, idiot, ninja, flying thunder-AH HOLY KAMI!

I actually fell this time, and had to land in a handstand to avoid falling to my idiotic death.

I hit myself in the forehead with my palm, groaning as I fell on my back. What the hell was I doing, training in a ballet studio, in a community center, in the middle of New York?

I tied my pointe hoes back on, and tried to practice while my mind kept wandering away.

Around 6,800 miles away, in Konoha.

"Oww…." I had fallen again while trying to pirouette, falling on my side, hard.

I didn't even get up, just shifted into a sitting position. I stared hard at my knees, thinking about everything. How much my feet hurt, how broke I was, how I had to get on a plane flight to Japan in around 8 hours, how there was nothing in my kitchen except cold pizza, twinkies,and a pack of red bull (although that's not really that bad) and the fact that I have to go see Minato because Furawā is pregnant and sounded drunk on the phone and because I feel so guilty for leaving Konoha and WHY DO I FEEL GUILTY I LEFT TO PRESERVE WHAT WAS LEFT OF MY FUCKING SANITY-and oh, there it goes. All my sanity is gone.

I took off my pointe shoes, and ran outside to hail a cab. Once the car stopped in front of me, I realized I was crying.


End file.
